Another Side Of Midnight

Not exactly true. He had a cast-iron jaw and my hand already hurt like hell. It had been worth it. I hadn’t heard a word from him in two months, two weeks and four days. But who the hell was counting, right? Why be “surprised” about that?

What really ticked me off was my other reaction, which was purely physical. His damp black T-shirt stretched tightly across his shoulders and chest. Faded blue jeans skimmed over what I knew to be long, muscular legs. And I’m a sucker for long, muscular legs. He moved toward me and I had to fight my natural reaction—internal combustion in the face of an alpha male.

Cameron Stone is a lion of a man—six foot three or four, golden and gorgeous. In a word? Dangerous.

“Are you having a go at me because you lost the last fight?” He reached toward the tender skin beneath my eye.

I ducked his hand and crossed my arms, tapping a finger against the cup. “No, I’m picking a fight with you because your note wasn’t exactly the Valentine I’d hoped for. While I appreciated breakfast, Stone, I would have appreciated an explanation more.”

“Stella, love—”

“Don’t call me that.” He’d used the L word twice now. Even out of context, it was awkward, unsettling, and so very wrong.

Unable to avoid it any longer, I looked directly at his face. Wherever he’d been, whatever he’d been doing, his features now had edges hard enough to suit his name. He’d let his hair grow and his Celtic skin was deeply tanned. His light blue eyes still had the power to both captivate me and put me on my guard.

He looked really good, damn it.

I tried to forget how often he’d made me smile that night, the way my heart had raced when our fingers touched, or how eager I’d been for him as midnight became morning.

His eyes warmed considerably as he’d looked at me and asked, “Where have you been?”

“Right here, waiting,” I’d answered.

The intense sunlight hurt my eyes. That’s why they were tearing up. I swallowed hard, struggling for control. The level of my anger would reveal the depth of my feelings, and damned if I was going to allow that. I had questions, lots of them, but I also had some pride. So I kept things as simple as possible.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“As I said in the note—”

“Something came up. That was the best you could do?” I let my tone slide down into the sarcastic range.

His mouth flattened. “Aye, something came up. It was rather urgent and I had to take the first available flight.”

“Where to?” I tipped my head, intrigued. Stone didn’t strike me as the kind of man who ran from trouble. But, then again, what did I really know about him?

He continued to look me right in the eye, not an apology in sight. “I can’t give you any details.”

“Can’t? Don’t you mean ‘won’t’?”

“Can’t. Client confidentiality and all that.”

He shrugged, one of the cockiest gestures I’d ever seen. Either he was using confidentiality as an excuse, or he was adhering to it out of expediency. Professionally I understood, but personally it set my temper off.

“Fine, no details. How about a broad overview? It’s been almost three months, Stone. What kept you from calling once this something was finished?”

His hesitation only lasted a nanosecond, long enough for me to realize he’d already decided how much not to tell me. “This is the soonest I was able to contact you.”

Asshole lying jerk bastard. “Nice to see you, Stone. Feel free to drop out of my life again.” I turned my back on him, heading into my office.

“Not so fast.”

Before I could take more than a step, his arm banded around my waist. He leaned back against the door frame, turning me in the space between his thighs. The thrill of being so near him again struck me like lightning. I felt the sizzle in every nerve of my body as repressed desire added to the heat of my anger.

I could have knocked him on his ass, had him flat on his back in less than a heartbeat. That’s what I told myself, anyway. But I didn’t because, knowing Stone, he’d have thought it was foreplay.

“Let me go.”

“I did that once and didn’t much care for it.”

I laughed harshly, not about to fall under the spell of that sexy brogue. “You’ve got it backwards, Stone. You’re the one who left.”

“I know. Believe me, I didn’t want to.” When I pushed away he didn’t stop me. I moved toward the opposite wall, putting distance between us so my body would stop humming. “But I’m back, Stella. I’m here now.And I’m wanting to work things out.”

Crossing the space between us, he cupped my shoulders, sliding his calloused hands up and down my bare arms. He held my gaze calmly, his pale eyes clear and candid. I knew better. There’s nothing open about Stone except his blazing sensuality. Seriously, he’s a natural-born charmer.

But I was in no goddamned mood to be charmed and feeling emotionally unprotected did nothing to improve things. So I ignored his oh-so-sincere assurances. “The only thing we need to work out is when to file—”

The little bell over the front door chimed. I frowned, startled to realize that it hadn’t made a sound when Stone came in. Jon started down the hall, then stopped dead in his tracks. His expression hardened as he looked at us—Stone still loomed over me, grasping my elbow.

Jon drew himself up to his full height and struck a menacing pose, muscles flexed, eyes watchful. “Who’s this?”

I’ll be damned. A knight in flaming armor.

But, instead of an Uzi, Jon had a takeout container under his arm. It ruined the effect. Right now, I needed to defuse the situation or I’d be picking carpet fibers out of my lunch.

“This is Cameron Stone.” I slipped from his grasp and took a step back. “He’s—”

“I’m her—”

“—leaving now.”

Stone shot me a look, but thankfully didn’t finish his sentence. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

I squared my shoulders, irritated by his unspoken censure. “This is Jon Chase, my secretary.”

“Administrative assistant,” Jon cut in, glancing from me to Stone and back again. He had yet to move, apparently still gauging the threat.

Stone nodded in greeting, though his focus stayed on me. “We’ve some things to discuss, you and I. A proposition.”

I snorted inelegantly. “I’m still trying to recover from your last one.”

That brought Jon closer to my side. He stood just in front of me, making himself an obstacle. When I tapped his shoulder, he turned his head but didn’t take his eyes off Stone.

“I thought you were taking a long lunch.”

“It can wait.” Jon didn’t seem ready to shift out of action-hero mode. “Should I ask why he’s wet?”

Stone spoke up. “He is wet because I gave her a bit of a start when I came in.”

I looked over and caught his faintly amused expression. Damn it, couldn’t he at least pretend? Jon was acting more jealous than Stone was.

“I’m fine. Really. I just wasn’t expecting the ghost of mistakes past.” I darted my eyes in Stone’s direction, then held my hand out to Jon. “Can I have my food now?”

He handed over my chicken and a small plastic bag. “I got yours first. Try to remember this when I’m up for a raise.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” I replied in my least sincere voice. “Go get that lobster.”

“I’m not hungry.” Jon eyed Stone some more even though he was talking to me. “If you need anything at all, I’ll be right at my desk.”

“Nice to’ve met you.” Stone held out his hand.

Jon ignored the gesture.

Stone let his hand fall to his side. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths again.”

That did not make me happy. It sounded like a threat to my mental health as well as a casual promise to my secretary. Jon walked away, but not before giving me a look that warned he’d be asking a lot of questions later. Let him ask.

There was no easy way to explain Stone.

CHAPTER SIX

A Matter of Trust

“YOU CAN GO, TOO.”

Stella pierced Stone with a green-brown glare, angling her head toward the front door. Then she turned on her heel so swiftly that her braided hair swung in an arc. Cameron admired the sway of her bum before following her down the passageway. With little effort, he recalled the satin feel of her bare skin and the sinuous muscle beneath it.

He glanced about, registering the agency’s layout and exits from habit. He walked into the last office just as she went round the desk, set her meal down and flung herself into the chair. He studied her, replacing memory with reality. Hair as dark as a raven’s wing with wide hazel eyes beneath straight brows, a classic nose and a full mouth that begged a man to kiss it.

And that bloody shiner. The anger had hit him out of nowhere, as if he could feel the impact of that fist against her cheek… He’d seen quite a few people die over the years, some of them by his own hand. And yet the sight of her barely concealed bruising made him ill.

He forced his gaze away, schooling his expression to mask the sudden rush of feeling. Looking around, he made note of the motorbike helmet, technical books and utilitarian blinds along with the watercolor canvasses, delicate glass paperweights and flowering plants.

“You’re just as intriguing as I recalled.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Stone. Why are you still here?”

He hated having his back to the door, but he took the visitor seat, gingerly crossing his left ankle over his damaged knee. “As I said before, we need to talk.”

“So talk.” She flung up her arms in resignation before opening the polystyrene container. The room filled with the scent of grilled chicken, garam masala and lemon.

He nodded toward her food. “I don’t suppose you’re sharing that?”

“No.” She took an exaggerated bite, closing her eyes and humming with gusto. “Why did you come back?”

He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t possibly explain how he’d left the Bellagio with the oddest sensation of the light going out of the room. He hadn’t much experience with light. A relationship was something he never thought he’d have. In his line of work truth and true emotions weren’t to be allowed. No ties to hold him back, no assets to compromise him.

Yet there was something about Stella. For the first time in years, he’d felt…

He’d begun making arrangements while waiting in the Vegas airport’s international terminal for his flight to Bogotá. He hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place. But Nick Anson, head of the Nighthawks, had needed him and the job had been one he couldn’t refuse. A matter of a life or painful death.

Unfortunately it had taken longer to come to the final end of things than anticipated. He, Ice, Loco Vaquero and Blueman had spent miserable weeks in the jungle dealing with the Liberation Front rebels. The ordeal had only strengthened his resolve to return to Stella. He’d begun several times to ring her up, but even so he’d known an impersonal call wouldn’t do.

He’d wanted—no, he’d needed—to see her again. “I’m here for a job… Among other things.”

“Uh-huh. Obviously I missed something before. What exactly is it you do?”

“I…” Cameron smiled briefly. “Eliminate problems.” She laughed at his careful phrasing. “What, you’re some kind of enforcer for the Scotch mafia?”

“Scottish, actually. Scotch is something you drink. But, no.” He dropped his foot back to the floor. “I’m a risk management specialist, mostly negotiations and recoveries.”

She set her fork down with a snap. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for an insurance agent. They usually don’t disappear in the middle of the night.”

Cameron knew what she wanted and he resisted giving it. He was very much his own man, had been since having to leave the Special Air Service behind. There had been other women, of course, but he’d made the rules clear from the start. He’d come and gone as he damned well pleased. Until now.

Until her.

His natural aptitude for unconventional warfare was discovered during his Army training. Each time he’d put his dark gift to use, it had cut away a bit of his core and it showed. Given the life he led, he looked like ten kilometers of bad road and well he knew it.

Yet somehow she’d recognized him, as he had her. The instant they’d touched, he felt it. Like that split second before impact when you knew the bullet was coming, but couldn’t do sweet fuck-all about it. Souls colliding as bodies merged.

Anyone outside of his best mate would think he’d gone barmy, but he was sure about himself and Stella. He’d seen that same certainty in the eyes of his parents when they looked at each other, right up until they were killed. Therefore now that he’d returned, he had every intention of staying on. Whether his wife liked it or not.

“Well?” Stella crossed her arms and glared at him. “I’m what you might call a conflict consultant.”

“Consulting could mean anything or nothing.”

Clever girl, his Stella. That was precisely why he’d set up his company in that manner. The less known about what he did, the better for all involved.

“When one person’s agenda conflicts with someone else’s, they call me. That’s why I’m here. Frank DiMarco called me.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Money Changes Everything

NOW, I HAVE TO ADMIT, that stopped me. On several levels. Frank DiMarco is Maria Cavanaugh’s father. And, like I said before, I don’t believe in coincidences. Stone was here because Big Frank had called him, not because he wanted to see me.

Son of a bitch.

Fearing my look actually would kill him, I stared down at my lunch. The Tandoori chicken, jasmine rice and spinach paneer were neatly separated on lettuce leaves. Little tomato rosettes and parsley sprigs garnished the meal. It’s the details that count, both on my plate and in my job.

When Stone reached over to steal a piece of chicken, I shoved the container toward him. My appetite was gone, but my interest was aroused. “Big Frank called you. Is he the ‘conflictor’ or the ‘conflictee’?”

Stone took a bite before answering. “DiMarco would be the conflictee. He’s out a good sum of money.”

“From which business?” Maria’s father owns a couple of small hotel casinos and some adult entertainment clubs on the Strip.

“The Palazzo. About four hundred thousand dollars was stolen over several months. An inside job.”

Normally people tiptoe around a man whose nickname is “Demon” DiMarco. Stealing four hundred grand is more like stomping. I shook my head in disbelief. “Why not go to the cops or the Gaming Board?”

He swallowed a mouthful of rice and spinach. “DiMarco doesn’t want the publicity. More importantly, he wants the money back. Which leads to my proposition. We’ll work together, sharing information—”

I interrupted with a bark of laughter. “Oh, like you’ve been such a wealth of knowledge in the past. Forget it.”

“As I recall, Stella, we’re damned good together.”

I recalled, too. In vivid, true-to-life color with high-definition surround sound. Then I remembered the elegant and expensive silence in the hotel suite the next morning. And the silence ever since.

My anger hummed so close to the surface I felt sure he could hear it. I picked up one of the mouth-blown paperweights I keep on my desk, rolling the crystal globe between my hands. Judging its weight to be about three pounds, I wondered how hard I could throw it.

“I work alone.”

“Let’s see if this sparks your interest, then.” He wriggled an eyebrow. “The thief is Gray Cavanaugh.”

I thought back to the picture of Maria’s husband, not surprised somehow. Then I thought about the timing of Stone’s arrival. “Big Frank hired you to trail his daughter?”

“No, but he did recommend a local investigator—that would be you—who might be a good resource. Following Maria provided a convenient excuse to see you again.”

I ignored that as best I could. “Does Frank think she knew about the embezzlement?”

“He believes she would protect her husband.”

She might. But I remembered Maria’s tone when she mentioned finally being in the family business, her suppressed outrage over the affair. “I’m not too sure about that.”

“Why? What did she discuss with you?”

“I can’t tell you. Client confidentiality and all that.” I focused on the paperweight, paying exaggerated attention to the swirling ribbons of colored glass inside. Then I sent Stone a smile, big on sarcasm and low on sincerity.

He wiped his fingers on a napkin. He leaned back in his chair and gave me a considering look. “If you don’t think Maria would cover up for Cavanaugh, I’ll hazard a guess she came to you about Gray’s bit on the side.”

I shrugged, answering without answering.

He went on. “I’ve a notion this woman is not only his mistress, but his accomplice. Together, we’ll find her that much faster.”

Although I was dying to know how Cavanaugh had grown the balls to rip off Big Frank’s casino, that wasn’t what I’d been hired for. I didn’t know nearly enough about Cameron Stone, but I seriously doubted he needed my professional help. And it was just too unlikely to think this could be personal.

“I can find the mistress on my own without wasting time and money solving your case, too.”

His cool gaze mocked me. “I shouldn’t think money is an issue, considering your assistant can afford lobster for lunch.”

Good. I’d been wondering if he’d picked up on that. The agency may not look like much, but he didn’t need to know we were struggling.

“What do you get out of our partnership?”

He responded with a cool smile. “I’ll have the pleasure of your company and ten percent of the recovery. As my ‘local resource,’ twenty percent of that could be yours.”

Twenty percent of ten percent of four hundred grand. A nice round eight K figure.

He smirked at me. “Ah, now you’re wondering if you’d be better off with or without me, Nevada being a community property state.”

“Without, Stone. No doubt about it.”

He dropped his gaze and his voice took on a husky quality. “I didn’t really ask before. How’ve you been, Stella?”

“How have I been?” The sudden show of interest had me parroting his question.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

I set the paperweight on the desk before I threw it at him after all. “You’re kidding, right? I mean, you’re not exactly in a position to ask.”

“Am I not?” When he finally looked up, the color had shifted in his eyes again. “You’re certain of that, are you?”

I leaned back in my chair, clenching my jaw and trying to clamp down on my feelings. Did he actually think he had any kind of claim to my life? After the callous way he’d treated me? My hurt, resentment and confusion warred with my anger. As usual, I let anger win.

I remembered that night—the champagne, the flowers and the Bellagio’s dancing fountains lit up below our window. I’d believed in magic that night. The way he’d looked at me, the unspoken message in his touch, had made me think we were on the verge of…something.

Then I’d reached out for a man and stroked a vacant sheet instead. The pillow under my head had still smelled of citrus shampoo and male sweat. But I’d known even before I saw his note that he hadn’t run out for coffee and a paper. I felt my blood pressure rise and changed the subject.

“Let’s get back on track.”

A professional mask replaced his expression. “Right, then. DiMarco hired an independent auditor to go over the finances. As the casino manager, Cavanaugh has authority to sign markers or IOUs. There were a few questionable transactions.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“He signed off several markers as paid. However, they don’t have corresponding bank deposits.”

I rested my chin on my fist. “So, when his girlfriend didn’t pay her debts, he ‘forgot’ to take the money from her account, huh?”

He shook his head slowly. “She didn’t have an account to take from. Apparently the application for casino credit was approved without ever being verified.”

“Gray okayed the marker on both ends while his girlfriend cashed out the chips. All under his wife and father-in-law’s noses. Dumb ass. If Big Frank is sure that Cavanaugh’s been embezzling, why hasn’t he confronted him?”

“As I said, this must be kept quiet. Casinos never want to let on about losses, especially from employee theft. However, DiMarco is adamant that this be managed as swiftly as possible. Find the tart and we should find the money.”

“There is no ‘we.’” Not when I wasn’t sure of what was really going on and he’d given me no reason to trust him. “If you figured that since I’d be following Cavanaugh, you could tag along, think again.”

His lips curved into a confident grin. “Come now, love. We’ll be bumping into each other, constantly getting on top of things. Better to share what we’re doing and get comfortably into position, I’d say.”

Could he put any more innuendo into that line of reasoning? I swear, everything was sexual with him. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Happy to hear it. When I take you back to bed, I fully intend to keep you awake.”

I let that pass, though it wasn’t easy. Stone was one hell of a lover. But I didn’t want the complication right now. At least, that’s what I told myself. Then his gaze raked my chest and he winked. I looked down to see my nipples standing at attention. Dammit. Damn him.

He stood up and reached for his wallet, then handed me a business card. It was bright white with only his name on the front. On the reverse were three telephone numbers. “My mobile phone, my pager and my answering service.”

Tossing the card onto the desk, I dismissed him with a look. “I’ve got work to do. You can find the door.”

The glacial blue look he shot me was heavy with unspoken words. I’m a gambling woman, so I was willing to bet I didn’t want to hear them.

“Ring me once you have Cavanaugh’s schedule. We’ll coordinate from there.” Stone walked out.

It wasn’t until a couple minutes later that I realized I hadn’t actually agreed to work with him. We both should have known better. Impulsiveness had gotten us into trouble in the first place. But I love a good mystery and the agency could use an injection of cash….

So, here I was, headed for trouble once more.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Business of Information

JON WAS BACK in my office so fast you’d think he teleported. He’d probably been lurking in the foyer, waiting for Stone to leave. I was already waiting for him to leave again, too.

“So, who was our unexpected visitor?”

I must have reacted to his odd tone because Jon smiled and plopped down on the chair Stone had occupied. “Start talking, girlfriend, and don’t skimp on the details.”

“I’m not your girlfriend and there’s nothing to tell.”

“Puh-lease. I have eyes. I saw him and I saw the sparks.” He leaned his elbows on my desk, his brown eyes intent. “Now, who was that divine creature?”

“Stone is…”

My voice trailed off. I tapped my pen on the blotter, struggling for a description. He wasn’t my lover or my friend. He was an impulse I’d quickly regretted, a mistake I wouldn’t mind repeating, but also a problem I needed to resolve.

“Stone is none of your business.”

Jon pouted, an expression that managed to look adorable on him instead of infantile. “You’re no fun. At least give me a vicarious thrill and tell me he’s as good as he looks.”

I pictured Stone naked and sweaty and smiled. “Better.”

“So you are involved.” His voice sounded flat for a second, but then he camped it up as usual. “Here I’ve been teasing about your nonexistent love life, and all the while you’ve had this big, sexy secret.”

Yeah, but sexy or not, our relationship was staying a secret. I arched my left brow. “Are you done?”

“Not even close. When did you meet him? Where did you meet him? What did—”

“Skip traces,” I blurted.

“Excuse me?”

To stop Jon from pursuing the subject of Stone, I’d get him to search the proprietary information databases. Locating people is time-consuming, often frustrating but also a large part of the job.